


E L E M E N T.

by redhouseboys



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, RIP, black paladin lance, emotions are had, keith and lance have a fight but i promise it will b ok, kinda gay i guess, there's some crying, uhhhhhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 18:04:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12216072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhouseboys/pseuds/redhouseboys
Summary: A terrifying hurricane of emotion swirled in Lance’s chest. He turned over every mistake he’d made in his head, every fragile life in his hands. Each failure was a falling star, bursting, slipping through his fingers.There were far too many of them. A shot barely a meter off, an uncontrollable swerve from Red, who he was still getting used to piloting, his near inability to ground Keith. If he had done it sooner, if he hadn’t missed that shot, if he hadn’t done this, that, if he hadn’t done anything, if he hadn’t held them all back—





	E L E M E N T.

**Author's Note:**

> hi there!! so y'all know me so far as posting lots of keith angst, but i am a lance stan as well (yes, i can be both) and was really feeling the need for some black paladin lance and i wanted lance to feel important cause he deserves it, god dammit
> 
> there's...some obvious keith angst slipped in here too and i'm not totally happy with this bc i feel like that goes a little unresolved so maybe i'll write a part two to this where keith kinda. works himself out too 
> 
> anyway i hope y'all like this. did you know that the title is from another kendrick lamar song i bet you didn't 
> 
> as always, comments and kudos are appreciated, and thank you for reading!! remember, you are just as important as lance and worthy of love!!!!

Lance’s chest felt like thread. 

It was frayed, unwound haphazardly, bright tint fading blue to red (like blood, like a precarious future, a whirlwind of shifting nebulae). He felt it, wrapping around his lungs, clenching tight, tighter—and then breaking apart in a sudden rush of desperation when Lance came up gulping for air. 

It was flimsy. It was tight, it was broken, it was weak. It was imperfect and not good enough and—

And he was unwound thread. 

They had just returned from another mission, this one more rattling and strenuous than the past few. It had been a desperate frenzy of explosion and adrenaline and fear and Keith—well, Keith had scared the shit out of all of them again, rocketing head first into danger as the team scrambled behind his shaky leadership. Lance had barely managed to piece them together, breaking Keith out of his fire and pulling him back, cold dulling heat. After that, they formed a more even-keel, the entwinement of two half-spirits melding into one whole. They had barely scraped out alive, and hadn’t even managed to completely extinguish the Galra fleet. They had shooed them away for now, but the danger still loomed, and only god knew when they were going to strike again. 

A terrifying hurricane of emotion swirled in Lance’s chest. He turned over every mistake he’d made in his head, every fragile life in his hands. Each failure was a falling star, bursting, slipping through his fingers. 

There were far too many of them. A shot barely a meter off, an uncontrollable swerve from Red, who he was still getting used to piloting, his near inability to ground Keith. If he had done it sooner, if he hadn’t missed that shot, if he hadn’t done this, that, if he hadn’t done anything, if he hadn’t held them all back—

With a shaking breath, Lance bit back the oncoming anxiety attack, clenching his fists. He was still sitting in Red’s cockpit, trying to recompose before he faced the rest of the team. He knew he would have to have a serious talk with Keith, which he was undoubtedly dreading. He knew he would most likely face a swell of self-inflicted bullets as he plastered a smile and took every “joke” about his abilities and intelligence in stride. God, just—he needed a moment before he had to be someone that wasn’t him. 

Footsteps behind him—and Lance jolted when he suddenly felt someone’s presence, hand instinctively going to his bayard—but it was just Keith. Red had most likely let him in, still connected to Keith in a way that would never be severed. 

Lance’s anger flourished at the thought; even Red wouldn’t belong to him. Blue no longer wanted him—although he was happy for and proud of Allura, who more than deserved her. Red only took him as a sloppy replacement. And Keith—Keith got everything, again. Piloting the Black Lion, still maintaining a soul-cementing bond with Red, being a leader, being the best pilot—

Nearly getting them all killed. 

Keith opened his mouth to speak, but Lance was an ocean. An ocean in wind—lightning crackling against the waves’ surface. It wasn’t often he was this angry, but he couldn’t hold back, a flood of hatred toward Keith, toward himself, boiling hot in the red glow of the cockpit. He whirled around to face Keith, snarling. “What the hell, man?” he yelled. “What _was_ that? How many times are you gonna pull shit like that before you learn that you’re being a selfish dick?” 

Keith’s eyes flashed with something unreadable—something like hurt—but he quickly re-solidified, eyebrows furrowing in anger. “Lance, I know it was stupid,” he admitted, flexing his fingers and curling them into a fist, cracking each knuckle in a weak attempt for control. “But I—” 

“But nothing!” Lance cut him off, tone acidic, eyes the twisting blue-black of water beneath thunder. “It was stupid, and you can’t keep doing this! I can’t keep—keep pulling you back from a cliff’s edge every time we have a mission! You’re a leader now, and you have a responsibility that you can’t just run away from by diving head first into a suicide mission and splitting up the team!” He was breathing heavy, faintly registering his own surprise and disgust with himself for being so angry, but he couldn’t stop. Keith was…well, Lance had come to care about Keith, but right now, the leader needed a rude awakening, and holding back wasn’t going to shatter anything permanent. 

Keith quieted, and he looked young then, younger than Lance had ever seen him before. His eyes held a sense of shame and guilt and heaviness that just made Lance’s chest tighter. He needs to hear this, Lance told himself, trying to ward off the urge to apologize and take back the outburst. 

“You have to learn to listen to us, and think as a team, not as an individual,” Lance continued, no longer screaming, but still fueled by rage, something brittle that splintered the quieter he spoke. “Keith, we care about you, but you need to cut the shit and put your big boy pants on, because you’re a leader now, and you have to act like it.” 

Silence. Lance had been expecting retaliation, crackling embers—but Keith was still. Instead of fire, he was ashes, black dredges in the bottom of a fire-pit. His eyes were surprisingly open and soft.   
He was listening. He knew Lance was right. 

“I…I know,” Keith finally managed, swallowing past a lump in his throat. “Lance—thank you.” 

Lance was a little stunned by that. “Wha—what are you thanking me for?” he sputtered. His anger was winding down now, blurring into guilt because where was the Keith he knew, the Keith that wouldn’t have backed down, that would’ve defended himself, that would’ve yelled back? “I stand by what I said, but dude—I just yelled at you.” 

“I needed it.” Keith was violet then, that gaze drawing up the red in the room and eating it alive. “And I…I’m sorry.” 

Lance didn’t feel particularly content with the flimsy apology, but he also knew that Keith had trouble expressing. The frustration was clear on his face, and Lance perceived that Keith knew as well that his words were unsatisfactory, his lips dipped down, unable to comprehend how he could fix it. He opened his mouth again, closed it, opened it. 

“I don’t want to do this,” he said finally. 

Lance’s shoulders sank. “I know you don’t,” he said, voice still laced with ice, but it had become gentler. “But you have to. You have to get past that and actually do your job.” 

Keith closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, nodding. “You’re right,” he replied. “I know you’re right. I…I really am trying.” 

Chest twisting, thread twining in unhealthy ribbons around his heart, Lance couldn’t help but grimace. Keith never had to try. How had he been shouldered with piloting the Black Lion when he clearly didn’t seem ready? Keith had a lot of skills—but this wasn’t one of them. Leadership…wasn’t his strong suit. 

Yet somehow he was still piloting the Black Lion. And that melted Lance, because Black knew, despite his faults, that Keith would grow into it, that Keith would be better. Always better—better than Lance, better than everyone. Lance was never going to be good enough, and he hated the heat that pooled in the corners of his eyes, little supernovas sparking down his cheeks. He wiped them hurriedly away with his sleeve. 

“Lance? Are you…are you okay?” 

Lance swallowed. No, he thought, I’m not, but his body betrayed him and he nodded, slowly. “I’m fine,” he lied. “I just…I need you to step up, okay?” 

“Lance, I—I know,” Keith’s voice was uncharacteristically high. “I’m really—I’m really trying. I’m going to be better. I know I need to listen, I need to control my temper, and I—” 

“It’s not fair, Keith!” Lance yelled, the anger restructuring, a tsunami of hurt washing over the boy’s constricted chest. “It’s not fair that you keep doing this to us, and yet somehow you still get to pilot Black, as if you—you deserve it!” 

Keith reeled a little. That hurt, even if it had been true. He crossed his arms, a shield, limbs tightly concealing the fragile beat of his heart. Lance saw that look and immediately felt bad, knowing maybe he’d gone too far and let his own insecurities slither their way into Keith’s veins. “Keith, I’m…I’m sorry, that was...I didn’t mean—” 

“I wanted you to pilot her.” 

The galaxy shuddered. Red made a noise somewhere between a soothing purr and an indignant growl, mimicking Lance’s feelings quite well. “What?” Lance finally said, and the world was just smudges of color, no coherency except for the violet of Keith’s stunning eyes, bristling with tears that Lance had never witnessed before. 

“I know you could be worlds better than I am at this, Lance,” Keith admitted. At first, Lance couldn’t help but think this was a joke, and he said as much, but Keith quickly dismissed the idea. His voice was genuine, serious, a splinter of hurt and truth. “I’m not…I’m not meant to be the leader and I really, really don’t understand why Black chose me when she should’ve chosen you.” 

“I don’t…” Lance couldn’t seem to comprehend this. Him? Of all people? Was Keith really saying that Lance was better than him at something? Well, not even just something—piloting the black fucking lion and being the decisive head of Voltron. 

“Lance.” Keith cautiously stepped forward, his hands twitching, as if he wanted to reach out and touch, but was suddenly too small and afraid. “Lance, you said it yourself. I keep fucking up. I’m not even mad at you for pointing that out because it’s true.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “But every single time that I—that I blow up, you’re there. You’re bringing the team back together. You’re leading them.” 

“Keith. I don’t think you know what you’re saying—” 

“I _do,_ ” Keith insisted, sounding surprisingly passionate. There was a genuineness to him that rattled Lance, disbelief still coloring his atmosphere. “When you came to me and you said you weren’t valuable to the team, I was—I didn’t know what to say because that’s so _wrong._ You’re like—” Keith struggled with his words, clearly not used to emoting this much. Eloquence was lost on him and he tried to control his breathing again, uncomfortable with the emotional bareness. “You’re like glue, Lance. You hold us together. You have so much love in you that makes everything okay when it’s not supposed to be and you know how to ground everyone and you’re adaptable and can be there to do anything that needs to be done, because you’re skilled and smart and—” Keith seemed to crack, and his voice fell, unable to continue. “You’re everything I’m not, Lance. You’re everything Voltron’s leader should be.” 

Lance was breathless. Keith was a tangle of vulnerability in front of him, and his naked soul was all _Lance Lance Lance_ and he—he didn’t know what to do about that. About the way that his name was tattooed on Keith’s pale skin, something bright and blue and red and black and every color—Lance was there. 

“Keith—I—” He swallowed, pinpricks of light spilling out of a wild sea. “You really think all of that?” 

Keith nodded fiercely. “What, did you think I just pulled that all out of my ass?” he asked. When there was no response, he continued: “I’ve been…thinking about it since you came to me. When you left I—there were so many things I hadn’t said that I regretted not saying because I didn’t know how. It’s just been there ever since.” On Keith’s skin, in his hands, cradled in his eyes with a kind of softness Lance never thought he belonged in— “And I…I’m so sorry, Lance. I’m sorry because I want you to lead and—and even if I have to pilot Black while you call the shots then…then we can do that, because you’re made for this, and I’m not. I know that, and I’m okay with it, because I want what’s best for the team...even if it hasn’t seemed like it. And what’s best for the team is you.” 

It felt ridiculous. A fallacy, venomous lie dripping from Keith’s lips—but no, there was no venom there. His words were honey, sticky and sweet and organic and true and it was a cold heat that made Lance shiver. “You…Keith, I never thought you’d—” 

“You’re important,” Keith interrupted. His hands twitched again, but he faltered, and Lance watched the movement, eyes wide and watery. “You’re so important. The team needs you. Now more than ever, Lance.” 

“We need _Shiro_ —” 

“We need _you._ ” 

Just then, a loud roar resonated throughout the castle. It was unmistakable, a jarring feeling that gutted Lance, sudden whoosh of breath scooped from the concavity of his aching lungs. _Black._

“Did you hear that?” Lance asked, wondrous blue eyes shifting to Keith, who didn’t seem surprised in the slightest. He looked worn, beaten, heavy—but he was smiling. 

“I did,” he whispered, that same sweetness in his voice. “I did, Lance.” 

Unthinking, Lance sprinted out of Red and toward the deep rumble of Black’s quintessence, his blood electric in his veins. He was vaguely aware of Keith following him, but everything else went unregistered until he reached the Black Lion. Suddenly, Lance’s footsteps slowed, and he approached her with a reverent sense of fear. 

When Lance reached out a hand and pressed it gently against her nose, he heard Black purr in answer and her eyes flickered brilliant yellow. “Oh my god,” Lance breathed, his heart a meteor spiraling through his chest. “I can’t…me?” His voice was a quiet whisper. “But I—I’m not good enough for this. You’re sure you want me?” 

Another purr, even softer and sweeter this time, though simultaneously insistent and strong. _You are enough._ And the words resonated in Lance’s ivory bones. He closed his eyes and let out a sob of pure euphoria and pain and disbelief and just everything, everything everything everything—so big and bright, god, the universe was so vast and deep and Lance was so small, but— _You are more than enough._

Keith approached after a while, the intimate moment between Lance and Black fading as she seemed to settle again. But Lance was still crying, swell of mixed emotions drowning him. “I told you, didn’t I?” Keith said, lips upturned in the fondest of smiles. “Lance…I don’t say this enough. None of us do. But I…I’m so proud of you.” 

In a sudden sweep of lanky limbs and perfect, brown skin mashed against stark white, Lance pulled Keith to his chest. The boy was stiff, at first, all hard gravel and broken glass, but eventually he melted into the embrace, burying his face in Lance’s neck. “I’m so sorry,” Lance murmured into Keith’s hair. “I shouldn’t have said those things in such a—a mean way. You’re a good person, Keith. Please believe that.”

Keith didn’t make a comment on that, which did worry Lance a bit, but the thought slipped away when the whisper of, “don’t you dare be sorry” came, murmured into a sharp collarbone. He nuzzled Lance’s neck, unable to hold himself back from the need to touch and love and feel, possessed with a burning, insatiable need to be gentle. “This is how it’s meant to be. I’m not mad with that at all.”

And Lance realized then that Keith…Keith had never been arrogant. If he was, he wouldn’t be so soft. His eyes wouldn’t carry _Lance, Lance, Lance_ in them, his voice wouldn’t sound so much like love. 

Keith had rattled off a plethora of Lance’s traits that he cherished, said Lance was everything he wasn’t. The seemingly hard-edged paladin had insinuated that he was jealous of Lance, and his eyes spoke volumes of admiration and beauty and something Lance couldn’t place—

“Keith,” Lance said then, pulling back to stare into the galaxy of Keith’s eyes, endless swirl of lilac stars. With a shaking, cautious hand, he reached up and brushed his knuckles over Keith’s cheek, a foreign tenderness brushing against the red paladin’s skin. “Keith…thank you. You—you believed in me.” 

“I’ve always believed in you,” Keith whispered. “Always, Lance. Even when all we did was fight, I never doubted that you belonged here.” 

The breath was stolen from Lance’s lungs. There was so much and his heart was so big, and _“you have so much love in you that makes everything okay”—_

Then his lips were capturing Keith’s in pure desperation, tears streaming down both of their cheeks. It was a moment where both were nothing but soul and heart, no skin no bones just soul and mind and heart and beauty and filled up with space and sun and stars—

When they pulled back, Lance let out a soft sob and rested his forehead against Keith’s. “I’m proud of you too, Keith.” The words were startling. “You’ve done a lot for this team too. And I…I know you were doing your best. I know you were. You would never put the team in jeopardy on purpose.” 

Keith bit his lip. There was something strangulated behind his eyes, but it was smothered with a weighted swallow and a whisper of, “thank you,” that was sweet but dismissive, as if he was trying to shift the focus. _This isn’t about me. This is about you._

For now, Lance was basking in the breathlessness of worth. He had never before felt so wanted, so significant, and he felt Black’s reassuring breaths curl around his shaking body, felt Keith’s gentle kisses to every inch of his face. 

Lance felt important. And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d genuinely felt that way.

He laughed then, a cascade of sunlight that made Keith’s mouth burn with a smile too wide for his face to hold. “Holy shit,” Lance chuckled, his eyes full of awe and disbelief and love and so many things, so many stars, “ _holy shit._ ” 

“You’re important,” Keith repeated, cradling Lance’s face in both hands. “Don’t you see, Lance? You’re important.” 

And Lance laughed again, his arms wrapped around Keith, the boy he’d always admired, always cared for, deep in his heart—and his chest was no longer thread. It was something steady, something brave and full of so much love to give.


End file.
